Show No Mercy
by 2hearts1soul
Summary: The Vampire Lord of the British Isles turns his terrible gaze upon the trembling offering kneeling in the Hall of Death and Glory and smiles.Dark deeds from a deadly Sherlock and his obsessed bodyguard John. Warning:Gory and mentions child deaths
1. Chapter 1 The Hall of Death and Glory

Chapter1 . The Hall of Death and Glory

The young girl shuddered as she was left in the great hall of Death and Glory. She knew what it meant; she knew what happened to humans brought to this terrible place, in front of the huge painting of the great hero and mastermind of the vampire revolution

The vampire guards had forced her to her knees before the throne. One had chuckled darkly,

"_Pray he will be merciful little human and kill you quickly, he does so like to play with his food, especially when they are such pretty morsels_".

One cold finger had caressed the side of her neck lingeringly, then tilted her head up towards the painting, where the words "Show No Mercy" were written boldly underneath his portrait.

"_Too bad little one"_ he smirked

"She tried not to react, tried to suppress the pitiful whimper, but the vampires heard, and laughed, the second one leering at her as he added to her terror

"Y_ou should be honoured girl our lord has most particular tastes_"

And then they had backed out in a ritualistic march after a long obeisance to the empty massive throne.

She was alone, her mind screaming at her to get up and run, but her body refusing to obey it. The frantic trembling had left her legs too weak, she was so tired and hungry she could barely restrain her complete collapse. But she didn't dare move, she knew she was being watched although she couldn't see them and they would be ready to pounce on and punish any disobedience.

She used her arms to try to keep her balance and remain upright. She kept her head down, slow tears dripping on to the dark parquet floor.

The mere mention of this vampire's name in the camps could stop a weak heart, would make strong men tremble and terrify the starving children into silence.

The whispered rumours of his uncanny ability to know everything, his coldness, his cruelty and his blood lust created a fear so strong it was tangible.

It was always rumours for there was no human who had survived an encounter with him and returned to tell the tale. When you were taken to the great hall you never came back. It was the Hall of Glory for the Vampires but the Hall of Death for everyone else.

She thought of her family in the camp, she saw their despairing eyes as they stared hopelessly making no effort to try to stop her removal and then watched her being taken out through the metal gates of eternal pain. She didn't blame them, there was nothing they could do, they would have been cut down where they stood and she would still have been taken.

The repercussions for the whole camp would have been viciously extreme if they had resisted. In one of the northern camps as an act of retribution they had taken all the children under five and left them hanging on the high barbed wire, alive, flesh pierced by the brutal spikes, screaming for their mothers, blood dripping from their wounds until they died in front of weeping and wailing parents.

No mercy was his motto and it was never ever broken

There had been no resistance to his will for a very, very long time, since long before she was born. The humans had capitulated first, not able to withstand the mental emotional and physical onslaught unleashed upon them. There had been no real resistance since they had rounded up all the werewolves and broken them in the bloody fight arenas. Now the only living Weres were the ones that served him and they were more vicious than his vampire guards.

They were led by a formidable soldier who never left his side. He walked with a limp, he had scars upon scars and he would rip the living heart out of anyone who dared to threaten his lord, be they Vampire, Were or Human.

It was said he had killed his own pregnant mate for a jealous attempt on the Lord's life.

Oh God, if these were her last moments of life she didn't want to spend them remembering horror stories, when they came for her it would be horror enough.

She wasn't brave, she wasn't a fighter. She didn't even have the courage to look the vampires in the face when they had taken her from the camp.

She was just a scared little girl who was going to be gobbled up by the monsters.

She wanted to think of something good, something beautiful and something happy before her life was ripped from her.

Sometimes when things got too hard in the camps, when she was too hungry or so full of despair that she couldn't sleep, she could escape into her dreams.

She could look wide awake but be safely hidden in her mind, going to fascinating places she had heard the old people talk about, and her favourite was the seaside.

She had never seen the sea but she had heard an old lady talk about it, about walking with bare feet through soft crunchy warm sand, About standing at the edge of the beach and waiting for the sea, no it was called surf, to surge up over her toes, and feel it surge back again. About watching sea gulls swoop and dive and call in the breeze of the blue, blue sky.

That's where she would go before they came for her. She would walk on a beautiful sandy beach and paddle in the blue sea in a place where there were no monsters and no camps, and no foul smell of blood and bodily fluids, decay and death.

She deliberately sank back on to her heels, and relaxed her shoulders, her hands came up and rested on her thighs, she brought her head up and began to slow her breathing, calming her body's trembling.  
She looked up at the great throne before her and fixed her gaze on the intricate pattern in the deep purple velvet, until it dropped away into nothingness and to her delight she was standing beside the sea, the soft breeze was tickling her neck, and playing with her dirty blonde curls, she could feel the warmth of the sun on her bare arms, and see it glinting on the playful lapping waves.  
She could even smell the sea, wild and fresh. She could just walk into the sea and wash off the stink of her life.

A small smile grew upon her lips as she took the beautiful scent deep into her lungs..

* * *

The watcher had observed the dirty thin trembling terrified child since she had been left by the guards. He felt no pity any more, but he wondered at his lord's choice this time. His lord was not normally given to feasting on such young humans but he supposed even vampires needed a change in diet sometimes.

In truth, he had begun to be worried about his lord's recent lack appetite; it had nearly become as bad as when he orchestrated the last great battle against the humans.

He didn't like to eat when he was busy, claiming it interfered with the workings of his incredible mind. But when he refused to eat, he became physically weakened, although it would be a foolish simpleton who ever believed that the Vampire who had crushed the British Isles was ever weak or unprotected.

Lately his lord had been engrossed in another matter, something he had not shared with him, but the watcher was glad, when his lord was bored he took stupid risks, the likes of which nearly stopped his faithful protector's heart with fear.

Once a very long time ago, he had lost him, had been unable to stop what he had thought was his death at the time, it had broken something in him, nearly destroyed him and when his lord had come back, he had sworn it would never happen again. He made sure it would never happen again, and all obstacles were ruthlessly despatched.  
Most times with pleasure, sometimes there had been pity, once there had even been pain but nothing was allowed to endanger his lord.

His instinct for danger began to make itself felt as he watched the half starved weeping trembling pathetic young girl take control of herself, as he watched her resettle herself into a relaxed posture which was similar to the one adopted by his lord when he visited his mind palace, and when the tears falling from her wide open unfocussed eyes were joined by what could only be a smile of wonder on her lips.

He straightened his shoulders, and touched each of his weapons in turn for reassurance. The child would be dead before she could draw her next breath at the first sign of danger to his lord and master.

"_Problem John_" the deep hypnotic baritone voice he loved asked him with amused curiosity.

"_I'm not sure your dinner is going to agree with you Sherlock_" he answered curtly, refusing to remove his eyes from the kneeling girl.

The vampire lord of the British Isles turned his terrible gaze upon the offering from his guards and smiled.

* * *

AN: Disclaimer: _No copy write infringement intended. The BBC's Being Human and Sherlock belong to the BBC, T Whitehouse, M Gatiss and S Moffat. and ACD _

_Why a crossover did you ask? Well if it's good enough for Mr Gatiss and believe me it was more than good enough, he was fabulous in both, then it's good enough for me. And there was a bit of a precedent for a dark Sherlock , take a look in Sherlock's eyes when he tossed the CIA man out the window, again and again for daring to hurt Mrs H.! And not forgetting cuddly jam and kittens John shot a man in cold blood because Sherlock was threatened._

_Please tell me what you think._


	2. Chapter 2 A Suitable Offering?

Chapter 2. A Suitable offering?

"_John, John, John, John, John_" the vampire almost sang the words with exaggerated patience _"As ever you see but you do not observe_"

John finally removed his gaze from the girl, and stared at his lord, who was watching the girl with a predatory stillness more reminiscent of one of his "games" than anticipation of a leisurely lunch. The sturdy soldier narrowed his eyes at the satisfied smile playing on those chiselled beautiful lips.

"_However your instincts are more effective than your thought processes, or why else would you feel a threat by the sight of that",_ he gestured disdainfully at the motionless girl.

"_Filthy, malnourished, covered in lice and threadbare rags, do you think this a suitable blood offering for the Lord of the British Isles_?" and his icy gaze turned toward his protector with an eyebrow raised.

John's stomach clenched, he knew that expression, it forewarned of either punishment or pleasure depending on the vampire's mercurial mood. His excellent survival instincts took him to his knees; he bent forward and kissed one pale hand.

"_Forgive me my lord"_ he uttered softly, his warm breath caressing those thin fingers, hoping his instant supplication would sooth any ire, or at least change the mood to a different hunger.

"_I worry"_ and he tilted his head up so his indigo eyes could meet those impenetrable argent hued pupils, baring his neck in submission _"constantly_"

The vampire's other hand very gently wrapped itself around his throat, feeling the increase in pulse and the instinctive swallow, without removing his gaze from John's wide pleading eyes. His eyes flickered between black and silver and briefly his fangs made an appearance.

The thumb drifted softly against his skin, as he kept him kneeling, knowing and revelling in the pain the werewolf was feeling in the damaged leg, knowing how the uncertainty of his intentions was as seductive for John as it was chilling.

His John, his soldier, his protector, was as responsive and addicted now to his whims as he was when he had woven his spell over the young pup all those years ago and made him his pet.

John's strength, resilience and poisonous blood ensured that Sherlock could indulge his nature satisfactorily without losing his favourite toy. If Sherlock was ever tempted to take John's blood, he would die an agonising death, if John was ever tempted to betray the vampire he would die an agonising death. It was the perfect partnership.

John's devoted madness ensured his safety; his single-minded obsession fuelled his ego and his cruelty.

Sherlock rarely admitted it even to himself, but the werewolf was as necessary to him as was he to the werewolf.

He was never bored with John. He found peace with John, from the cravings of the incessant blood lust and the ravings of his incessant mind.

He had at one time refused to acknowledge that John was getting older, Weres didn't last as long Vampires, they had a longer life span than humans but they were not immortal like the Vampire.

His remarkable intellect had not allowed that ridiculous delusion for long and it had acknowledged the possibility of John's demise and removal from his life (that acknowledgment had caused the utter decimation of a particularly troublesome human town in the south east, Aldershot, if he remembered correctly, with the resultant beneficial effect of the fall of half the official human army)

He had experimented of course over the years, to find something to extend that lifespan because the thought of life without John was too tedious to endure, he had made some gains, and as a side benefit had satisfactorily depleted the stock of rebel werewolves at the same time but it was only lately that this secret passion had coincided with another of his long standing games, in fact **the** "game" and now he had a move which could gain him his most longed for results. How utterly delicious! He had only to set it into play.

John saw the instant that the Vampire's focus left him, turned in on himself and that palely beautiful hand dropped from his throat.

"_Get up John"_ the dark velvet voice ordered impatiently, but before he turned back to stare at the girl in the hall of death and glory, Sherlock bent swiftly and drawled softly against the wolf's ear, sending lust and fear in equal anticipatory shivers down his spine "_Later"._

The vampire did not wait for his protector to get to his feet, he strode into the hall. The staccato sound of his steps echoed through the vast room.

He strolled languidly around the young human, taking in all the details, observing, analysing, and cataloguing the data. He was intrigued by the fact that she was as yet unaware of his presence; the small joyful smile on her lips was a marked contrast to the frightened tears dripping off her chin. The relaxed breathing in contrast to the unconscious clenching of her hands.

It had been a long time since a human had intrigued him, and this filthy little specimen was attracting his interest which was unexpected as he had only needed her physical body for his initial plan. All sorts of delightful possibilities were now racing through his mind. A rare chuckle broke from his lips. Poor, poor child, she was his now and forever.

John frowned as he heard the laughter. He came to stand at Sherlock's side, and once again eyed the girl with heightened and meticulous precision

_"I want her attention John"_ Sherlock said calmly.

An open palmed slap across the girls face was his instant response.

Sherlock smiled mockingly without moving his gaze from the girl, and said with underlying menace

"_Brutal but effective my dearest John as always …. But only forgivable in this instance because I did not tell you that she is to be unharmed, I have told you now John, she is not to be harmed, I won't forgive a second transgression"_

A sudden sharp pain in her face pulled her forcefully from her dream world. She was yanked back with the cold snap of a piece of elastic from soft sand, warm sun and gentle waves, until she could feel the hard parquet floor digging into her knees, the cold of the hall seeping through her thin clothing and the ominous waiting presences towering above her

Oh God, she didn't want to open her eyes and see the monsters that had come for her.

Please let it be quick, please let it be quick, please let it be quick, she chanted silently, and the refrain repeated in her mind to the exclusion of all else.

She screwed her eyes closed and covered them with her clenched hands like a small child. Her heart rate and breathing became laboured, but she refused to look at them.

Please let it be quick, please let it be quick, please let it be quick….

"_Do you think it's wise to ignore your lord and master little one"_

a cold cold voice mocked her actions.

She was grateful that she was already on the floor because the sound of that famous and feared voice took the strength from her limbs, with a level of terror she hadn't known existed. Her arms dropped to her side, she had no strength to keep them up, but her head was raised as if pulled up by a noose, and her terrified face was revealed to them like a flower opening to the sun.

John looked at the cheekbones accentuated by the thinness in her face, the Cupid's bow lips, the curls in the strawberry blonde hair, and when finally clear ice blue eyes were revealed, he whispered one word in shock _"Mycroft"_

Sherlock laughed, the glee and satisfaction reverberated through the vast hall and into the terrified mind of the suppliant girl before him.

"_Isn't it just adorable John, the last of my living relatives has come home. Won't her father be simply ecstatic_?"

She heard no more as her exhausted brain and body refused any more stimulants and combined to relieve her of the weight of her terror as she collapsed into a stupor before them

* * *

AN. Disclaimer as first chapter,

I am so enjoying writing this. I think the rating will probably go up in the next chapters. Is he bad enough for you ? Please please review, I need to know what you think xxx


	3. Chapter 3 Last of the Living Holmes

**Chapter 3. Last of the living Holmes**

Mycroft Holmes, last of the honourable, legendary living Holmes lineage, leader of the human resistance and prisoner of the Vampire Lord of the British Isles was back in the familiar filthy dark cell under the Hall of Death and Glory

He was prey to the Lord's whims, sometimes he was housed and fed in unimaginable luxury, treated as an honoured and loved member of the family and then in the blink of an eye, the beat of a heart, he was back in this disgusting hellhole, with its periodic beatings, torture and starvation. It was designed to break him, he knew that and he had learnt not to resist but go with the flow, take the good to build up stamina for the bad.

He had longed for death; had come so close so many times but that bastard werewolf lackey Watson had saved him, time after time.

He was a special case, he knew that. The vampire was fascinated with him and truth be told, he was fascinated with the vampire. He was a Holmes and of the vampire's own blood line. Sherlock's brilliance took his breath away and left him mourning for the great Holmes he could have been instead of the evil monstrosity he was.

He had worked for years to find a way to destroy this stain on his family's name, since well before the revolution. His family had whispered the dread secret to its sons and daughters down the centuries and the able minded (and the Holmes had always had more than their fair share of those able in mind!) had been prepared, primed and sacrificed to defeat, damage and block the nightmarish threat to the family's honour, and the safety of this country. The ones Sherlock had found a worthy challenge, he had allowed to live into old age, but the others he had "culled" to ensure the strength of the blood line

The first time Mycroft had come close to killing Sherlock, the vampire had laughed, told him he was proud of him and offered him immortality and a seat by his side

The second time Mycroft had come close to killing Sherlock; the vampire had laughed and wiped out the remaining living members of the Holmes family, and offered him immortality.

The third time Mycroft had come close to killing Sherlock, the vampire had laughed and skinned the would be assassin alive, a mathematics professor by the name of Moriarty, James Moriarty who had worked out the probabilities of success against the vampires and offered his services to Mycroft because he didn't want to live his life under vampire rule.  
Sherlock had used Moriarty's skin to make a pair of shoes which he had sent to Mycroft in a beautifully wrapped red gift box with a note to say that he had withdrawn his offer of immortality.  
Mycroft took it as a compliment that Sherlock now thought he was too dangerous to turn into a vampire.

His shame knew no bounds that it was on his watch that his beloved family and country had been defeated.

He was to be broken and paraded as another of the insane Vampire Lord's pets, but he had not yet submitted to the final degradation, he had cried, he had begged for death, he had crumbled under the tortures but he had not given Sherlock what he craved, his soul, his devotion, his love and ….access to Baskerville.

In the game of minds they played, he knew he never would. Mycroft had removed or eliminated any weaknesses which could be exploited. Sherlock needed the stimulation and Mycroft knew to his cost what happened when the vampire lord was bored.

To give him access to the last remaining human stronghold with all its deadly secrets and great hope for the future would be akin to setting off nuclear weapons on this precious soil.

Baskerville was his last hope for mankind and neither the vampires nor werewolves could gain access to it.  
He had seen to that as his top priority when he had recognised what was going to happen as the terrifying Mr Snow had killed the Prime Minister live on television.  
Mycroft Holmes had been the British Government, the most dangerous human the Vampire Lord had ever met, and hadn't that made the vampire lord proud. God help him, even in his current pitiful state he could still mentally challenge the Vampire.

He had lost count of the number of times Sherlock had switched venues on him over the years since his capture. He was so tired of it, but he also knew that if he wasn't there as a buffer, the terror Sherlock would unleash on this beautiful beaten land of his birth would be inconceivable

Sherlock loved his games, loved watching him dance, but Mycroft kept his secrets.

If Sherlock had ever deigned to use human drugs on him that he would have had it all, but Sherlock was an old one and he disdained 'modern tricks'. He wanted to defeat Mycroft by using his intellect.  
Nothing else would be acceptable to him and he had ripped the throat out of the only vampire who had been stupid enough to drug Mycroft during a torture session.  
Mycroft's stay in the Vampire's luxurious estate, which had been the Holmes family home, had lasted for a long time after that episode, as if Sherlock was apologising and wanted to give him a fighting chance.

When open warfare had ultimately proved futile, Mycroft and his squads of grey men had continued to use shadow and sleight of hand to distract, disrupt and destroy.

Sherlock had enjoyed the amusing War Child fiction, the one that had sent the surviving old ones scurrying back to the Americas, and left him to rule and control this most fascinating of places.

Mycroft had used the old legend and played on their superstitions, and most vampires were so incredibly superstitious. It was fiction but it had suited Sherlock's purposes at the time. Regis was only a librarian after all, his interpretation of the human skin scrolls had been woeful inadequate.

He had even helped his brilliant young relative's little scheme, unobtrusively of course but he had ensured that the ghost Annie had become involved and she had been looking for something to love after losing her darling Mitchell. Sherlock had despaired of Mitchell, that gorgeous specimen of vampirehood hating his blood lust and wanting to be human. He had understood and even approved the werewolf boyfriend but honestly falling in love with a pathetic little ghost. Sherlock had tried to teach him that caring was not an advantage but he hadn't listened and had ended up dead at the end of a pointed stake being wielded by his own beloved werewolf.

Using Annie in the war child scam had appealed to his sense of retribution and when she had destroyed most of the old ones, including Mr Snow who was becoming a cause for concern to Sherlock's plans, herself and the baby; it had been most satisfactory and allowed him to best Mycroft yet again.

When Mycroft had finally been apprehended, Sherlock had been amused and even proud at his demeanour. He had stood in that warehouse, in his immaculate grey three piece suit, leaning on his umbrella surrounded by snarling vampires and he had coolly removed the sword thin stake from the umbrella and destroyed six of the vampires before he was taken. It was only Sherlock's presence in the shadows which ensured that Mycroft hadn't been torn to pieces by the enraged vampires, and the one who had dared to bruise him was despatched by Sherlock with Mycroft's own stake.

He had smiled at the dishevelled man and said almost kindly

"_Time to come home my dear brother." _

The flicker of fear in Mycroft's beautiful ice blue eyes had disappeared quickly but Sherlock had caught it and his smile had widened with satisfaction.

Now Mycroft was back in the cell, and waiting for the next round of torture to begin. He leant against the wall, not wanting to sink down to the floor yet as he knew what it had been left on it previously, and he had showered that morning.

His eyes scanned the darkened room automatically to see if they had actually left him a bed or some food this time but there was nothing except the body in the corner.

Body in the corner, Mycroft straightened and tensed. His first instinct was to go towards it but he restrained himself. It was a trap he knew it, he just didn't know what it was yet. He studied what he could see of the rag covered body, it was small and made smaller by being curved into the foetal position. It hadn't moved when he had been flung through the cell door so it was either dead or unconscious or so terrified that it was playing dead. He thought he could see the chest rise and fall in shallow breaths and made an educated guess.

"_You really don't want to lie on that floor yet_" he said mockingly. The rag covered body moved instinctively but quickly stilled.

Mycroft smiled coldly and said "_I know you can hear me._" the figure suddenly pushed itself into the corner as far away from Mycroft as it could manage. In the absolute silence of the cell, he could hear how it tried and failed to control its terrified sobbing breaths.

For the first time in years, Mycroft could almost feel pity.

Then a terrified young female voice pleaded shakily

"_Please my lord, let it be quick."_

* * *

**_AN: _**

**_Disclaimer: As previous chapters, not mine, no infringement intended. Having fun only._**

**_Thank you to all who have favourited and alerted. Hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it._**

**_Thank you to AmyLisa and SilverColour for your kind reviews. The only spell Sherlock used on John was his charisma and sex appeal, and Mycroft is far from a vampire... _**

**_Please review, would love to hear your thoughts xx_**


	4. Chapter 4 Who do you think I am ?

**Chapter 4. Who do you think I am?**

Mycroft frowned in confusion.

"_Let what be quick, who do you think I am?_" he asked curiously

"_Please"_ the young trembling voice pleaded again.

He could actually see the terror which held her body immobile, as she avoided his eyes.

"_Look at me, who do you think I am_," he repeated sternly, a great sobbing breath was his only answer.

He considered her carefully, knowing the value of allowing the silence to build and assert its own kind of pressure.

She whimpered pitifully as she finally obeyed him and slowly raised her head.

He couldn't see the face in the shadows but he could see that she was actually looking at him

"_You look like the Vampire Lord_" she whispered fearfully.

The rage that flooded him at that comparison actually took him by surprise, although he couldn't deny it. Family resemblance had always been strong in the Holmes genes. Mycroft snorted with disdain and growled for once without considering his words carefully.

"_Stupid girl, would the vampire lord be locked in a cell beneath the Hall of death and glory awaiting torture?"_

"_I don't know." _she murmured with a sob_, "I don't know what's happening, I don't understand why I am not dead already, and nothing has made sense since they brought me from the camp."_

"_You came from one of the Camps?"_ he asked softly, trying now to calm her down.

He was desperate for information; it had been such a long time since Mycroft had received any contact or information from the outside world. News, he needed news, anything, he knew how to take the jigsaw pieces and pull the picture together, but he needed news. And now this girl had fallen into his lap, so convenient Sherlock you bastard, what are you up to, it was definitely a set up, but he would use the opportunity before the axe fell.

"_Torture?"_ she whispered horrified, ignoring his latter question.

"_Never mind that_" he said impatiently as he took a step towards her, she flinched and tried to press herself further into the wall.

He stopped, he wouldn't get any information from her like this and he didn't know how much time he had before there were "visitors". He would have used intimidation and fear on her without compunction to get the information he so craved but she was on terror overload and he had conducted enough interrogations to know that if he tried anymore fear tactics she would be completely useless.

He stepped back, giving her space, reassessing his options for the best approach.

He would try the human one, if he could remember how.

"_My name's Mycroft and you don't have to be afraid of me_" he murmured soothingly, "_I'm human and a prisoner of the Vampire Lord too, what's your name?"_

He waited patiently trying to determine her expression in the dim light of the cell, whilst she made up her mind to speak.

Her quick gaze had flickered over him and she surprised him by fearfully challenging his statement.

"_Your clothes look like a vampire's, no human I know is dressed like that, your hair, your nails, your shoes, they are all perfect",_  
her voice slid into silence after her surprising remarks as if she was shocked at her own audacity and then shivered convulsively as if to ward off any blows. But she continued, whispering as if somerthing was driving her on, as if she couldn't help it  
_"But you don't smell of copper and dust like them or musky like a were, or beaten and rank like humans in the camp. You smell ….clean, you smell pretty, you smell like a dream".  
_Her words tumbled out, she was unable to stop them despite the terror deep in the marrow of her bones which insisted she kept quiet, and small and unobtrusive.

He stared at her in amazement; he hadn't expected a malnourished terrified camp brat to be so observant.

"_What's your name?"_ he repeated softly but she didn't seem to hear him, as she spoke to herself in barely a whisper. "_That Were, the Lord's protector, said Mycroft when he looked at me in the Hall of Death and Glory"_

Mycroft narrowed his eyes as he focused his attention on her words, the sudden spike of interest accompanied by the usual adrenaline rush of fear and excitement.

Unexpectedly she forced herself into an upright position and slide up the wall until she was standing.

She looked at the man standing opposite her, he was thin and so tall, maybe taller than the vampire lord, his face was hollowed and his cheek bones stood out in relief , his nose long and imperious, his skin was pale, but not vampire cold as death and marble pale, there was a pink flush to it that spoke of a beating heart, his hair was short and brown but when he had moved towards her and the dim light in the cell had caught his hair, it had flickered red as if warning of danger but what really startled her and even made her more apprehensive was that he was so …clean.

With the exception of the Vampire Lord, and she had only a terrified glimpse for a few seconds at him before she had fainted, not even the vampires she had seen had been as clean as the male in front of her, the weres didn't care if they were dirty, they mostly preferred practical combat clothing, even the females, and the only humans she knew lived in filth at the camps, barely enough water to drink let alone bathe themselves.

Mycroft watched her raise herself up and find the courage to really look at him. He almost smiled with an odd sense of pride but he didn't want to do anything that would disconcert her even more.

Instead of a talking bundle of rags, there was a person standing there, she was taller than he had thought possible from the way she had curled herself into that foetal position, one slim fingered delicate dirty hand braced against the wall, the other buried still in the rags.  
The rags were actually a mixture of clothes worn thin and threadbare, the trousers were the regulation camp issue, and maroon in colour with the standard eye logo, the top was a thin jumper which may have once been pink and was much too big for her. Oddly her cheap thin shoes looked new and uncomfortable and then he remembered that long ago edict that camp children weren't to be given shoes, the vampires had considered it a waste of money for their baby cattle. Adults kept what they brought with them when they were first rounded up, but any born in the camps had to make do with hand-me downs and they were lucky if they fit.

He assumed that the idiot guards who had brought her to Sherlock would think that the Vampire Lord would be offended at a barefoot ragged child, forgetting his age and that for most of the centuries he had lived; they had been populated by barefoot ragged dirty humans living in poverty and filth.  
Oh yes his darling devoted relative Sherlock had brought back the good old days with a vengeance.

Her hair was tied back with what looked like string, but strands of the dirty reddish blonde hair straggled down. He took a closer look at her hair, there was something odd, the reddish brown seemed to be coming from the roots, as if her hair had been dyed. How on earth would a camp child be able to dye her hair, where would she get the equipment and materials and why would it be dyed blonde anyway?

Something about this was so wrong, so off kilter that it set off warning bells off in his mind, he edged slowly closer as he tried to see her face and he asked again more urgently

"_What's your name girl and how old are you?"_

Her breathing became shallower again, and she bit her lip, but the obedience beaten into them at the camps made her finally respond to the command in his voice.

"_My name is Thea Hooper sir, and I think I am fifteen, I don't know for sure" _she stuttered.

Mycroft leapt across the room at her and dragged the startled terrified girl directly under the only light source in the dank dark cell.

He roughly forced her face up, tilting it from side to side as she tried desperately to pull away from him, squeezing her eyes closed instinctively against the light.

"_Open your eyes_" he growled with true menace, "_Open your eyes damn you_"

He barely noticed her shudder because he was looking into his own eyes starring back at him in terror

The door to the cell swung open, and as Mycroft swung round still holding onto the terrified girl, Sherlock let out one of his light stomach churning laughs. His quicksilver eyes taking in the scene before him with delight.

"_You have always been my favourite dearest Mycroft, time and again you provide me with such entertainment, and prove your worth as a Holmes_."

His adoring tone sent a shiver of revulsion and rage through Mycroft but he forced himself to stand there as if it meant nothing.

"_But of course family had always meant so much to the Holmes hasn't it darling one, and I know how much I hurt you when I lost my temper and the rest of the family lost their lives"_.

Sherlock sighed with what seemed to be genuine regret, as he glided closer to the pair under the dim light. John Watson standing in the doorway, watching and waiting, menace personified

Mycroft could feel the strength leaving the girl's limbs at Sherlock's approach; he now had to hold her up, he wasn't restraining her anymore. He could feel the absolute terror coming off her in waves.

Sherlock halted next to them, smiling always smiling. What Mycroft wouldn't give to put a gun to that smiling mouth and pull the trigger? But he knew better than to let it show on his face.

Sherlock's smile grew wider, as if he had read his mind, then he glanced at the cringing girl, catching her gaze and refusing to release it even when he heard her heart beat race, and saw the shudders rack her thin frame.

He put out a hand and fingered a strand of her hair, then looked back at Mycroft, with a sweet sweet smile

"_Do you like my gift Mycroft_?" he asked softly, his eyes now not leaving Mycroft's

Mycroft stared back at him with his jaw clenched, and merely raised an eyebrow, Sherlock's smile widened with anticipation

"_Tut tut Mycroft, what will your daughter think of your manners if you don't thank me nicely_"

* * *

AN

* Sept 2012..Updated this chapter just to make it flow better, ready for the next chapter, sorry for the long delay, got caught up in my main story "**And then there were three".** This will be updated soon...

Disclaimers: As per the other chapters only enjoying this so much.

Thank you for the kind reviews and to all you lovely people for favouriting and alerting. Would love to hear what you think of the characterisation, please review. Do you think she's clever enough to be a Holmes ?

What about Mycroft and the delish Sherlock?

Please let me know what you think? :)


	5. Chapter 5 Claiming the Filthy Camp Brat

_**Chapter 5. Claiming the Filthy Camp Brat.**_

"_I know you are insane Sherlock, but I didn't realise you had become simple minded as well_" Mycroft drawled sweetly. "_I don't have any children, have you forgotten dearest grandpapa?"_

John Watson growled, the low angry sound vicious in the silence of the cell, his indigo eyes promising swift retribution, as he reached instinctively for his weapon, he knew Sherlock preferred to treat Mycroft as a younger sibling, he hated to be reminded that of his age, it offended his vanity but he stopped abruptly as the Vampire Lord of the British Isles threw back his head and laughed with delight, and still chuckling, he returned to gaze with deliberation at the silent incredulous youngster.  
He tilted his elegant head, black curls lovingly caressed his palely beautiful prominent cheekbones as his eyes turned black and his fangs dropped. He couldn't fail to miss the indrawn breath of lusty appreciation of his protector, and his vanity was soothed again.

His smile became taunting, as he flicked his gaze between the man and the cringing child.

"_Well you won't mind if I have a snack then will you little brother" _

and the hand that was fingering the strands of her hair, closed into a fist as he yanked her by her hair from Mycroft's hold. He held her dangling in front of him as she screamed, clutching at her hair, and his smile was predatory, as he leant towards her throat. His tongue licked a strip clean on her dirty neck.

"_Really Sherlock, I thought better of you, at least wash your food before you eat it, where are your manners, you are a Holmes after all_"

Mycroft commented haughtily as he turned to walk away with indifference.

The girl was dropped forgotten to the floor, as Sherlock spun round to watch Mycroft move away. He appreciated his young relative's physique, but even more his challenge, Mycroft delighted him, he was never bored with Mycroft. The darling boy was such fun to play with. He didn't satisfy the same cravings as his wonderful John, not that Sherlock was un-attracted to him but his puny human body couldn't cope with Sherlock's needs, although sometimes, sometimes in his weaker familial moments, he reconsidered his decision not to turn the dear obstinate boy, and maybe one day he would but the cerebral duelling was delightful and he would break Mycroft… eventually.

The girl lay there, the pain in her scalp excruciating, too terrified to breathe as she watched the interaction between the Human and the Vampire Lord.  
The Vampire Lord was fascinated with the Human, he reacted like a cat when ignored, and the Human had actually turned his back on him.

They were insane, the pair of them. And the Were was just as bad.  
The air was rank with their madness and she was caught in the middle of it.

She wasn't this man's daughter, her birth father had been a doctor, Mike Stamford, who had died in the first great werewolf rebellion, trying to save the humans caught in the middle of it, and her Mum, had been Molly Hooper, one of the great leaders of the human rebellion. She had been so brave, she was the hero of the resistance, little and so full of courage, indomitable, she was the poster girl for the resistance, which had offended the Vampire's vanity and when the Lord of the British Isles had finally caught her, her fall had been spectacular, his revenge had been terrible, and public. Her foster families had never told her directly what had happened to her mother, but each time they had moved her on, when things had become too dangerous as Molly Hooper's little girl, the new family members had winced at her name and the pity had been overwhelming until they had managed to submerge her in with the other children and she became one of theirs until it was time to move on again.

The Vampires only cared about registering the Adults; they never counted the children until they came of age. The families made sure the children were bundled together; there was safety in numbers from marauding and peckish vampires.  
Once the Vampire Lord had realised that his newly turned predatory vampires were gorging on and reducing their future food supply, he had instigated the ban on taking young ones under sixteen unless the Vampire had special dispensation.  
The ban had been successful once the Vampire Lord had asserted his authority and in public negligently staked the stupid arrogant young vampires who had ignored his edict, then turned his savage Were protector on the ones he allowed to live. John had had such fun removing pointless limbs and watching them scream in extreme agony as they grew back.

So families were "encouraged", having babies was smiled upon with fond fangs and the families with more than one small child were allocated more food. Thus her transition through the different families was of benefit to those families too. They were given more to eat, and the parents revelled in the knowledge that they received approbation from the Vampires for looking after the daughter of their great rebel.

She was always given love; as if that was the only thing they had left to give her in memory of her mother.

Her mother, Molly, who must have hoped that her daughter would have been brave too, but she who had died before she could discover that her daughter was useless and a coward. The only proper memory she had of her soft brown eyed mother, was when she had been playing with her toy cars on the rug, and her mother and another woman were speaking. Her mother told the other woman that she knew what looking sad when no-one could see her meant, that she would do anything to help her, she only had to ask. What did Anthea need? Anthea was her mother's friend the one she was named after. She remembered Anthea leaning down to kiss her and tears dropping on her face and then she never saw Anthea again. The other memories of her mother were fleeting and sparse, with soft cuddles and sighs until one day she wasn't there any more.

So her mother's friends had taken her, had hidden her with the rest of the little ones, had passed her from family to family until she was just a blur and indistinct from the rest, especially when they were rounded up and dumped in the camps. Finally she had been left with Ian Dimmock, a good man who had been a Detective Inspector with New Scotland Yard, back in the old, old days when humans had ruled their own world, who had the kind of contacts which kept his family under the radar and he had raised her with his children. She had belonged there.  
He had been a good father, he had always made sure that she faded into the background in the huddle of the rest of the kids, and had even found ways to hide her natural hair colour which would have made her stand out from her foster family. He had whispered to her once in the dead of night in the cold of the family hut at the camp, that if she ever had need, in dire emergency only, and she would know what it was, she was to make her way to Baskerville, and ask for the Lestrade, no one else only the Lestrade and say the words exactly _"He was a good man and now he is a great one"_.  
He had made her repeat it over and over until she had it exactly right and then when she had tried to ask Daddy Ian what it meant, he had shushed her with a fierce frown and never spoken of it again.

This rubbish about her being that Mycroft's daughter was total crap. But she didn't have the courage to challenge them. She had long ago accepted that she was a poor shadow of her brave, beautiful legendary mother.

Dear God, how had she got caught up in this madness, she had thought being used as the vampire's breakfast snack and drained was the worst thing that could happen, but she was now the plaything between the Vampire Lord of the British Isles and his haughty human prisoner. The only thing she had prayed for was a quick death. She wasn't going to get it. An idea struck her, maybe the vicious Were would kill her if she tried to attack the Vampire. The thought rattled round her stunned brain. Attack the Vampire lord,… if she tried to attack the vampire lord. She began to laugh; she lay on the floor, and laughed hysterically, until the terrified tears poured from her eyes.  
The madness was infectious.

The Vampire Lord ignored the pitiful sounds because he was more interested in the behaviour of his favourite male relative, the Were looked at her in frozen faced suspicion, and Mycroft stiffened but refused to turn to look at her.

Sherlock smirked in delight and looked at his protector, who remained still and unrelentingly observant.

"_Johnny, Johnny my dear, I think we should follow Mycroft's excellent advice, take our little girl, gently of course, and get her cleaned up. Her poor Daddy doesn't recognise her in that unfortunate state." _

He twirled theatrically, his long coat flaring against his legs, to stare down mockingly with a wide smile at the now silent shocked and transfixed girl, knowing full well that Mycroft had swung round to stare at him with an assessing frown. He loved to keep Mycroft on his toes.

"_This will be such fun, little one; you will do your father and your Uncle Sherlock proud won't you_. ….._the Holmes have always been such handsome specimens…._ _I would hate to have to punish you if you don't_"

She was still silent and shaking with fear as the Were threw her over his shoulder and removed her from the cell, but Mycroft's sneering words rang clearly in her ears.

"_Really Sherlock, have you no pride, that's a filthy camp brat and you are claiming it as a Holmes"_

* * *

**AN**

So sorry it's taken so long to update, been concentrating on my main fic for the last couple of months. "**And then there were three".**

But feeling very creative at the moment because just started a new fic based in the **And then there were three** universe, called **Impossible Equations** and Sherlock is being a complete git in it, so it inspired me to write this one. ….Shameless plugs but would love you to try them out and see if you like them.

So please review, let me know what you think

The beautiful, luscious and sexy Lord Hal will be appearing soon…mmmmmmm

**Disclaimer**

Not mine, but such fun to play with, thanks to BH & Sherlock for such fabulous characters.


	6. Chapter 6 Divide and Conquer

**Chapter 6. Divide and Conquer**

The bright neon lights flickered sporadically in the claustrophobic white corridor leading away from the cell. It was silent, a silence that hurt her ears. The building housing the Hall of Death and Glory had the silence of the tomb, not like the noise of the camps. But Vampires didn't even need to breath did they so they made no noise unless they were torturing their victims or feeding. The only noise in the cold clinical corridor was the sound of their breathing and the thud of the Were's boots on the tiled floor.

The relief Thea felt at being taken away from the presence of the Vampire Lord and the insane game he was playing with that dangerous human was short-lived. The swaying and her position over the Were's shoulder were making her feel sick, the pressure on her stomach, being hung upside down, her arms dangling helplessly and the musky scent from the Were's clothes didn't help.  
The thought of helplessly vomiting over the back of the Were protector of the Vampire Lord terrified her, his retaliation would be swift and brutally painful.

She tried to speak, "_Please, feel sick_" but the rhythmic jolting continued as if he hadn't heard, or more likely had heard, didn't care and was ignoring her.

She retched, she couldn't help it, and he came to an abrupt stop, "_Don't even think about it_" he growled and she shivered with fear, uttering a pitiful whimper.

"_Please, I can't help..."_ and she retched again. Merciful God, he was going to hurt her so badly.

He practically threw her to her feet, and she swayed in front of him, before she dropped to her knees, bent her head and vomited bile. There was no food to come up as she hadn't eaten since the morning before she had been taken by the vampire guards. They had taken her at the camp call to evening meal.

Slowly the retching eased, and she knelt there exhausted, the foul taste in her mouth and terrified tears blurring her vision, so she didn't see the small bottle being held out to her.

"_Take it"_ the deep growl startled her and she turned her head to the hand that held the bottle. Her eyes widened and she put out a trembling hand and grasped the bottle, her fingers brushing against the powerful Were's hand. He didn't feel like a monster but she knew he was one.

She could barely open the bottle her hands was shaking so much; he took it back from her with an impatient huff, unscrewed the lid and gave it to her again.

She had to use both of her shaking hands to raise the bottle to her trembling lips and used the water to rinse her mouth, having no compunction about spitting it out as she had just left worse on the floor, then she gulped down the beautiful clear water, so thirsty, she was so thirsty. She drained the bottle feeling slightly better, then raised her eyes to the truly terrifying Were standing there in front of her.

"_Thank you_" she whispered, meeting that intense indigo gaze fleetingly before she dropped her eyes, she knew better than to stare into a predators eyes. It was asking for trouble. She nearly laughed again, as if she wasn't in enough trouble already.  
Perhaps she should just stare into his eyes until he snapped and killed her. Almost as if he could read her mind the Were said with cold indifference _"Can you walk or do I have to carry you again_?"

"_Walk,_ _I can walk Sir,"_ she said hastily, the thought of going back over his shoulder made the nausea rise again. She would puke down his back the next time, she just knew it. She didn't want to face his reaction to that. After the Vampire Lord, he was the scariest monster she had been in contact with. And she had thought that the two Vampire guards who had collected her from the Camp had been frightening; they did not have the Protectors truly menacing power.

Her quick and desperate response almost made John Watson smile and he watched as she struggled to get to her feet. She stood there, swaying slightly, her head down submissively. He could feel her terror and despair and he could scent the tears falling from her eyes. They had to move, the smell of her vomit was irritating his sensitive olfactory senses and it was beginning to annoy him. If it hadn't been for Sherlock's order that she would remain unharmed, he would have made the little brat pay for this inconvenience.  
The mess in the corridor would be cleaned by one of the many silent slaves as soon as they had left, he pushed her ahead of him, and she moved obediently.

For long moments, he watched her stumble along, her shoulders shaking imperceptibly, knowing there were more tears falling, knowing she was crying silently to herself as she obeyed his commands.

"_I would if I could_" to his surprise he found himself explaining, his voice almost gentle, she stopped hesitantly _"Sir_" she asked without daring to look at him, her voice thick with the tears she hadn't yet shed.

"_I would make your death quick and painless"_ he offered gruffly, almost as if it embarrassed him to sound merciful.  
It was the only kindness he had in him to give these days. And she was still a child, a terrified puny human child who was forced to be part of his beautiful, cruel, amazing, extraordinary Lord's games.  
He wouldn't challenge his Lord for her, he would never challenge his Lord for anyone but he would not let her suffer further if his Sherlock allowed him to deal with her.

Her shoulders slumped; she knew as well as he did that her death was not going to be quick and painless. She was the new plaything in the elaborate game of the Vampire Lord and it would not end well. She was oddly grateful to the Were for his spark of kindness in this bewildering and terrifying situation and a quick and painless death was a great kindness in this place, she knew that, and she also knew better than to reject an offered favour, you didn't live long in the Camps if you were that stupid.

She had to thank him properly, leave him with the memory of her gratitude so that he wouldn't forget his offer.

She went to her knees, baring her throat, and slowly, nervously reached for his left hand, terrified of his potential reaction. When he made no move to stop her or slap her into the wall head first for her impertinence, she raised it to her face and rubbed her cheek against it, then slowly kissed the palm right in the centre.  
"_Thank you Sir" _she whispered again, against the same palm and her eyes lowered submissively.

For a moment John Watson was intrigued; she had been taught the proper gratitude response from a submissive young pup to a dominant adult. His gaze sharpened again, he would ask Sherlock about her background, too many things didn't add up about this girl. His Protector instincts were being triggered by his suspicions.

"_Yes well, time to go_" he ordered as he pulled her to her feet. As she walked ahead of him, he could still feel the imprint of her lips in the centre of his palm where she had kissed it, and the hot breath from her whisper and his eyes widened as unexpected lust hit his bloodstream.

He wondered what Sherlock's plans for her included. His tongue flickered over his lips and his eyes blazed with the yellow gold of his wolf for a few seconds as it tracked the small stumbling swaying figure in front of him. He nearly growled his intentions but he restrained himself.

Maybe if he pleased Sherlock enough later he would be given a gift, a small boon. If so he knew what he would ask for. He breathed deeply and drew in her scent.

He loved his Master but he enjoyed other partners also. Sherlock never minded and sometimes he liked to watch. John didn't think Sherlock would have a problem with the fact that she was Mycroft's daughter; in fact dependent upon his mood he might use that as an incentive for Mycroft's co-operation.

He hadn't had a human for a while, although at one time when they had been travelling across continents he had been rather fixated on human partners, mainly women but he wasn't fussy as long as they were attractive.

And of course it had also made for interesting interrogations when there had been humans who had tried to rebel against vampire rule, the last one who had suffered under his attentions had been that female human doctor Sawyer whose code name in the resistance was the Black Lotus, and who had tried to assassinate Sherlock with that fucking huge Chinese cross bow. He had enjoyed that interrogation immensely, the human bitch had nearly been successful and he had made sure she had paid for it over and over again before her execution.

His golden rimmed indigo eyes darkened with anticipation and predatory lust. His earlier kindness forgotten as his wolf recognised prey.

* * *

Mycroft could feel Sherlock's gaze burning into his back and he turned slowly, his face bland and impassive. He studied the Vampire Lord with the same concentration that the Vampire Lord studied him.

He stood still and silent as Sherlock stalked towards him, until finally Sherlock was so close he could count the number of lashes framing those amazing silver eyes. Mycroft took one step back and those silver eyes gleamed with deep satisfaction. They continued with the soundless dance of retreat until Mycroft was against the wall, boxed within the Vampire lord's arms and with Sherlock's face centimetres away from his own.  
Mycroft tried to turn his face away but one long impossibly pale finger and a thumb took hold of Mycroft's chin and kept his head exactly where Sherlock wanted it. Sherlock's tongue lovingly licked the outline of Mycroft's' angrily compressed lips, while staring mockingly at the helpless rage that shone in the ice blue gaze that stubbornly wouldn't look away in defeat.

Sherlock smiled with glee and did it again, more slowly, although he still made no attempt to force entry in Mycroft's mouth. It wasn't the right time or tactic at the moment. Mycroft's eyes had always fascinated him, and he tasted divine without even taking his blood.  
Mycroft felt sick, he wanted to vomit all over Sherlock including that ridiculously tight purple shirt, but he didn't, he bottled that reaction up too.

"_Mycroft, Mycroft, my darling boy_" Sherlock chided softly, his eyes gleaming with delight. "_Why did you think I wouldn't find out? Anthea was delightful, so utterly beautiful and clever too, almost clever enough to be a Holmes, you must have been so pleased when she told you she was pregnant"  
_Sherlock smirked at the silent man who merely lifted an eyebrow, as he studied the Vampire with obvious pity.

Sherlock felt a second's uncertainty, and then his smile was more brilliant than ever. Dearest Mycroft, he was so challenging, even when he was being pushed into a corner, especially when he was being pushed into a corner.

He relished the excitement of dealing with this extraordinary man. He was never bored with Mycroft

"_It was very clever the way you hid her existence Mycroft, hid her in the camps with the worthless cattle. But was that to protect her, or to protect yourself"_ the sharp question pierced Mycroft's armour like the slim blade of an stiletto and if Sherlock hadn't been so close he might have missed the miniscule facial reaction which let him know that he had drawn blood with that question. Satisfaction bloomed in his goading predatory silvery eyes.

There was a pause while the Vampire lord waited for a response but when none was forthcoming, when Mycroft just continued to present him with bland indifference and unconcern, he moved back three steps and smiled gently.

"_Perhaps a few days with no distractions will allow you to meditate upon the situation"_ Sherlock added solicitously "_and then you can have…now what did those parenting experts call it when you humans had more to think about than where the next meal was coming from…., oh yes I remember, some quality time with your little girl, you must have so much to talk about, and then we can both welcome her to the family properly"_

**AN:**

Sorry for the delay in uploading, been working on others and there was a big problem with my precious laptop. Hope you enjoy and thanks for reviewing and following.

This is rather a holding chapter, to present certain future plot possibilities

Let me know what you think.

**Disclaimer:**  
As always, not mine no infringement intended, just having so much fun.


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